


Plus-One

by Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me



Series: Copious Cockles [11]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Bickering, Dancing and Singing, Drabble, F/M, Flirty Misha, Fluff, I Don't Even Know, Kissing, M/M, Multi, Protective Jensen, Set in the Past, Singing, Some totally made up stuff, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-10 02:31:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6935029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me/pseuds/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen takes Misha as his "plus one" to a wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plus-One

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this fic began when Jensen's aunt tweeted Misha, saying that they met "at the wedding" and then asked if they could get together while in Rome-- and it got me wondering, how did Misha meet Jensen's aunt? Why didn't she just ask Jensen? Was she talking about Jensen's wedding, or have they gone to other weddings where Jensen's extended family might be present? With all that rushing through my sad, little brain, I created this fic. 
> 
> I hope you like it.
> 
> Keep in mind, I have no idea if Jensen actually has more than one aunt, or a cousin named Taylor-- I made all that up. He does have at least one brother named Josh ... anyway, don't hold all this to be accurate, is what I'm getting at.
> 
> Also, this is set when Jensen was still living in Los Angeles ... okay, shutting up now.

* * *

* * *

             

                “Danneel? I’m heading to the store. Do you need me to get you anything for this weekend?”

                “ _This weekend?_ What are you talking about?”

                Jensen stops halfway to the garage door, perplexed by the turnabout. _He’s_ usually the one asking about what’s going on—what he missed, _what he forgot._ Hearing his wife sound that way for once is _more_ than just a little satisfying, and he finds that he’s laughing as he turns around to head back to where she’s been sitting in the office. “ _Taylor’s wedding_ …” he urges as he walks in through the door.

                The beautiful woman looks up at him from over the glasses that she never likes to wear. Her hair is gathered in a messy pony tail and she has a stack of unruly papers in front of her. She looks like a hot, stressed out librarian in need of a massage, and Jensen has half a mind to forget about the store and the wedding, and _everything else_ altogether, just so he can go see that his wife is nice and relaxed. But the glare she gives him as he steps further into the office kills those dreams _dead_.

                “No—that’s _this_ weekend too?”

                “ _Yeah_. We’ve had it up on the bulletin board for months.”

                Danneel groans and drops the paper she was holding so she can shove her face into her hands. “This is the reunion weekend!”

                Jensen mouths _oh_ but he doesn’t say it aloud, knowing that his wife is already angry at herself for mixing things up, and any sort of confirmation on _his_ part would just be salt in the wound. “Well— _uh_ , when does it start, maybe you could do both?” he asks—hoping to be helpful.

                “It’s an all-day event. You know how these things go” she grumbles dejectedly through her palms.

 _He does._ He has done these sorts of get-togethers before; and they’re always hectic and not very well planned—and he never gets home until half past midnight. _He feels for her._

                Danneel got the invite for the One Tree Hill reunion back at the start of the year, and she’s been stressing about it ever since. Fans will be there, and so will the majority of the old cast. Not much other information was given, but her agent said that she should try to “be in character”—so she’s been studying old scripts and watching old episodes, hoping that she can snap back into that role perfectly and not disappoint anyone. Jensen has tried to tell her that she will do fine, _he knows_ she will; but she is a worrier, and a perfectionist, and no matter _what_ he says, she will go about this _her_ way.

                “I’m sorry …” she mumbles again through her shield of hands. “I don’t think I can make it to the wedding.”

                He hears the shake in her voice and he knows that she’s trying not to cry—and it causes him to have an inner struggle _himself_ , on whether or not he should go around the desk and hold her. She _may_ take comfort in it, or she may get angry that he acknowledged her vulnerability in this moment. But then Danneel makes the tiniest squeak—and he is there at her side, pulling her in and wrapping her up. She resists at first but then finally collapses, draping her arms around his legs as he stands beside her chair. “Hey, _hey_ —it’s fine. I’ll go to the wedding, and you go kick ass at the reunion. You’ll be _awesome_ , and I’ll get drunk and probably end up dancing like an idiot and throwing up in a planter.”

                Danneel laughs, sniffs up her tears while rubbing her face into the hem of Jensen’s shirt. “I wanna see that!” she whines, but it’s playful, and he can tell that she’s already gathering herself again.

                “I’ll make sure someone records it.” He laughs along with her a moment more before dropping down into a crouch so he can look up into her eyes. “Now, will _you_ make sure someone records you looking all gorgeous and baddass when you’re in _Rachel-mode_?”

                His wife rolls her eyes at him but ends the tumble with a cute, little grin. “You’re so weird.”

                “And you’re amazing.” He kisses her nose and then her lips, pulling back up a little to kiss her forehead before he stands completely. “ _Okay_ , well I still need to run out and grab some deodorant so I don’t stink.”

                Danneel huffs another laugh—but then her face turns somber with sudden thought. “You RSVP’d for _two_ , didn’t you?”

                Jensen nods and then shrugs. “Yeah, but it’s no big deal. People don’t show up to weddings all the time. We had a few _no-shows_ at ours.”

                “Yeah, and it _pissed_ _me_ _off_! I don’t want to do that to Taylor’s new wife on _her_ wedding day. “

                “I’m sure she’ll understand why you couldn’t be there. It’s not like you’re trying to blow her off or anything” Jensen says, attempting to comfort Danneel before she gets upset again.

                “That’s not the point. They _paid_ for this thing—they planned on a certain number of people and have food for _that_ many people, and gifts for _that_ many people. Not only is it rude that I’m not there, it’s a waste of _their_ money.”

                Jensen can only stand there, feeling useless with his words, so he decides to shove his hands into the pockets of his jeans instead, waiting for his wife to give him the signal to speak; the drawn out silence and the arch of her brow may as well be a flashing neon sign. “I—I don’t know what you want me to do, then” he admits, because— _he doesn’t._ If she can’t go, but it’s _bad_ that she doesn’t go—and he can’t clone her … well, he’s at a loss for a solution.

                “Bring someone else” she snips, as if the answer is obvious.

                And he supposes, it kind of is. “ _Uh_ —who?”

                “I don’t know.”

                “I RSVP’d for the two of _us_ —wouldn’t it be weird if I brought someone else?”

                Danneel just flits her hand and scrunches her face at the question. “ _Nah_ —not at all. As long as you brought that second mouth to eat the food they paid for, it’s all good.”

                This wedding etiquette is something he’ll _never_ understand, but he supposes he doesn’t really have to now that he has Danneel to interpret for him. “ _Okay_ —still doesn’t answer my question as to who I should bring.”

                His wife has busied herself once more with her papers, but pauses after another moment— setting them back down again. She wiggles her nose and then pushes her glasses further onto her face—apparently so she can see Jensen clearly when she gives him her patented, evil little smirk.

                Jensen tenses up—knowing that _that_ look always means trouble for him. “What?” he asks warily.

                Danneel giggles, finally standing up from her chair so she can walk his way. She lifts her soft hand and pats his cheek, just before bolting towards the office door. “Oh _nothing_ —I just have to text somebody.”

                Jensen swallows hard. _What is she up to?_

***

                “Does this look okay?”

                Jensen glances over to his right as he walks up around the end of the car. “It’s fine.”

                “I feel like it’s too casual for a wedding.”

                “The invitation said _casual_ ” Jensen grumbles—frustrated that he’s in this situation at all.

                “Well— _you_ don’t look casual.”

                “It’s _my_ cousin’s wedding, so—“

                “So, what does that have to do with anything? I’m _your guest,_ so wouldn’t you want me to look just as good as you do?” Misha reaches out and brushes at the lapel of Jensen’s sport coat, but Jensen quickly pulls away.

                “ _Woah_ —tone it down!”

                Misha just laughs. “Tone _what_ down? _Jesus_ —calm yourself. What is wrong with you?”

                “ _Nothing_.”

                “Oh yeah—okay, _sure._ ” Misha looks left a moment and Jensen breathes in deep—trying to relax and compose himself for what still lay ahead; but then Misha’s eyes are on him once more. “Let me just _try_ something …”

                Before he can react, Misha is up on tip-toes, _kissing_ Jensen’s cheek. “ _Shit_ —” he starts to yelp, just before pulling Misha with him behind the minivan that they’re parked next to. “What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?” Jensen screeches, doing his best to keep it quiet, but he’s freaking out too much to contain himself.

                “ _I knew it!_ You’re embarrassed that I’m here!” Misha says—an oddly victorious grin gracing his face.

                Jensen looks down at his feet instantly. “ _No_ …”

                “Liar.”

                “Fine—” he starts, finally looking back up when he sees Misha’s posture change. The man is now rigid—glaring at him with arms folded across his chest, foot tapping as he waits for an answer. “ _Look_ …” Jensen goes on, ignoring his own guilt, “everyone here is expecting to see _Danneel_. The last time I saw all of them was at _my own_ wedding … to _her_.”

                Misha keeps tapping his foot. “So?”

                “So …” Jensen continues. “So, they will be expecting to see _her_.”

                “ _Yeah_ …”

                “And you’re _not_ her!” Jensen grumbles again, because he doesn’t know how Misha isn’t getting this.

                “Color me shocked” the other man says simply. “I still don’t understand why the fact that _I’m not_ Danneel, is so embarrassing for you.”

                Jensen groans and falls back against the car—a rental that Misha got _just_ for this occasion. He said he didn’t want either of them puking in _his_ car; and with as uneasy as his stomach is now, Jensen thinks that was probably a smart move. “You know why” he eventually mumbles, rounding it all out with a sigh.

                Misha sighs too and joins him in leaning against the car. “You don’t want your relatives accidently finding out that your nuclear little family, with a wife and _two point five_ kids, is _not so_ nuclear—and you actually have _one point five_ wives and a boyfriend.”

                Jensen laughs halfheartedly as he admits, “Something like that.” He sighs once more and then pauses. “How do I have _one point five_ wives?”

                Misha hunches forward a bit—raising an eyebrow at him. “How can you have _two point five_ kids?”

                Jensen can only shrug and then stare off to their right—catching a glimpse of the big beach house where the wedding is taking place. “I—I’m just not ready for all of them to see all _this_.” He gestures loosely between himself and Misha and then drags his hands up to cross across his chest as well.

                But Misha catches them before they can settle, giving his fingers a light squeeze. “I _promise_ —I promise I won’t get drunk and molest you out on the dance floor, or belligerently confess my love for you to one of your family members. I also promise that I won’t kiss you anymore—not in front of _them_ , at least … even though, you look _so fucking hot_.” Misha practically growls as he steps straight again and moves around to face him. “I could just push you into the backseat right now and—” he crowds up against Jensen’s front and runs eager hands across his hips, leaning in to try and catch lips with his teeth.

                Jensen is chuckling as he stops his boyfriend’s swift fingers before they can untuck his shirt from his pants and find some skin to ruin. “Okay— _okay_. And—and … I promise not to freak out every time you _look_ at me. I _do_ appreciate you coming. I mean, I _still_ don’t think it’d be _that_ big of a deal if I came by myself, but Dani said that is was some wedding _faux pas_ or something.”

                “Well, it’s always wise to listen to her.”

                “Yeah.”

                “Because she’d kill you if you didn’t.”

                Jensen laughs— now, thoroughly and strong. “Yeah, _no kidding_.” He claps Misha on the shoulder as he pulls himself away from the car too, soon—leading them both out and across the way to the beach house.

                Misha brushes against his side … a lingering touch that means much more than what any unsuspecting eyes would assume. “She actually scares me sometimes. Even _in_ _texts_ , she’s frightening.” he says a moment later as they come to the edge of the parking lot.

                “I know” Jensen agrees with a smile. “I sure know how to pick ‘em, don’t I?”

                Misha gives him a small wink just as they reach the front porch. With a soft smile and a shake of his head, he reaches out to ring the doorbell. “ _You sure do_.”

***

                “Oh, so this is the man who plays the angel!” Jensen’s aunt cornered them quickly—not even giving them time enough to grab some drinks.

                “Yeah— _uh_ , this is Misha— _Collins_.” Jensen points to other man standing just behind him—looking back as he does to make sure that he has Misha’s attention for this. “Mish, this is my Aunt Karen.”

                Karen practically shoves Jensen out of the way so she can get to Misha and wrap him in a hug. “Oh, you are just _too_ adorable—and you _saved_ my sweet, Buggy. I just love you to bits!”

                Jensen groans, and rubs at his eyes with the pads of his fingers. “He’s not really an angel, Kar—he didn’t actually save me from hell, and I’m not _actually_ Dean.”

                The stout, blonde woman finally lets Misha go so she can wheel around and smack Jensen on the arm. “ _I know that!_ I’m not an idiot! But I just _hate_ seeing you _act_ like you’re hurt. It … it _hurts_ _my_ _heart_. So when a sweet-faced, handsome _son of a gun_ swoops in and makes you look _right_ again, _well_ —I appreciate it! _Fiction_ or not!”

                Jensen laughs and sighs, knowing that there’s no use arguing with his mother’s sister. She’s just as stubborn as his mom is, but two years older—making her two years _meaner_. “Yeah, okay. _Fine_. This is the dude that saved me.”

                The woman grins and turns back to squish Misha in another hug. “Oh! You’re a tall one too, aren’t ya? Buggy, why is everyone you work with so _tall_?”

                Misha laughs and Jensen grimaces—knowing that he caught the nickname _this_ time around. “ _Buggy?_ ” the other man says against crushed ribs.

                “Oh! Yes! He’s our little Buggy!” Karen removes her hands from Misha once more so she can finally use them on Jensen, reaching up to smoosh his face in her palms. “Look at you! Just as precious as the day you came out of your mom!”

                “ _Oh god_.”

                Misha chuckles. “What’s wrong, _Buggy_?”

                “ _Shut it!_ ” Jensen warns—but the words are slurred with his aunt still mushing his cheeks.

                “Don’t talk to your friend that way!” she warns back, squishing him harder. “Now, where is that lovely wife of yours? Is she pregnant yet? You need to get on that, you’re not getting any younger.”

                “Jeez, Karen! We’ve only been married a year!”

                “ _So_ , you should have a two month old by now!” Karen snips, slipping her hands away so she can shake a finger at her nephew. “ _So_ , where is she?”

                “ _Not here_ —she had a work thing.”

                Karen seems to sink into her lavender pantsuit. “Oh, what a shame …” she hums, quickly turning her frown away again. “You sure she’s not just home with morning sickness?” She steps in close and nudges Jensen with her elbow.

                “ _Ugh_! No, she’s _working_ , and she asked Misha if he could come with me instead. She didn’t want me to be rude and come without a plus-one.”

                “She is so thoughtful. _I like her_ …” Karen turns quickly to Misha. “Don’t you like her? She’s good for my Buggy, right?”

                “Very good. Your _Buggy_ is in good, good hands” Misha confirms, grinning warmly at the short, shining woman.

                “ _Good_.” She nods assuredly before turning back to look at Jensen once more. “Well, aren’t you lucky? A thoughtful wife and a literal _angel_ that will come and save you when you need rescuing!”

                “He’s not an—” Jensen stops when his aunt narrows her eyes. “ _Yeah_. I’m very lucky.”

                Karen grins triumphantly and is soon pulling both Misha and Jensen next to her, linking her arms into theirs—leading them to the back of the house and away to the beach outside. And Jensen is slightly taken aback by the gorgeous set-up—the rows of white chairs, the light blue sashes tied around the backs—the driftwood arch at the end of the aisle. All with the calm, blue ocean making up the backdrop. It truly is lovely.

                Then, he glances over his aunt’s head to check on Misha at her other side, soon—just _watching_ _him_ take it all in as well. The evening sun is lighting up his face and the waves seem to reflect off his eyes with tenacity—and _Jensen is breathless._

                “It’s so beautiful, isn’t it?” Karen asks—tugging softly on her nephew’s arm.

                Jensen grins, still looking over her head to his right. “Yeah— _beautiful_.”

***

                The ceremony wasn’t long, and ended just as the sun set itself upon the water. Jensen thought that the pictures are probably going to be _amazing_ with a frame like _that._ His cousin Taylor had grinned the entire time— and even teared up a little when he saw his _wife-to-be_ come down the aisle. Jensen teared up too, but he would never say that _out loud_. He was just reminded of how beautiful Danneel had looked on _their_ wedding day, and – _well_ , those things always do tend to get to him. Misha had sat at his side, looking content and thoughtful as he listened to two people whom he had never _officially_ met, exchange their vows. He even seemed truly moved when Sarah, _the bride_ , had told Taylor that she couldn’t wait to be the one to tell him where he had left all the things he’d lost throughout the day, and rub his feet after he came back from his morning runs. It _was_ sweet, but Jensen wasn’t sure why Misha would take it all to heart— he didn’t know the couple, after all. The words shouldn’t mean much to him; but, then again, maybe they reminded him of Vicki.

                Once the reception had started however, they both had the chance to relax some—to let loose, and not be so _behaved._ Jensen wasn’t planning on giving himself as much slack, but when it was apparent that the _entirety_ of his family _loved_ Misha, things didn’t seem quite as intense anymore. He supposes, the fact that the guy has at least _seen_ a lot of these people before at _Jensen’s_ wedding, made actually _socializing_ with them, easier. Misha had mentioned on the car ride over, that when Jensen got hitched, _he_ spent most of his time talking with the crew members that were there, and didn’t get a chance to meet much of anyone else—but he was at least, aware of _who was who_. So, when hoards of sun-burnt Texans came up to greet the man, he didn’t _seem_ to be extremely overwhelmed

                Jensen’s grandmother was among the first, and had basically _adopted_ Misha not ten minutes in; and Jensen thinks he saw her somehow score the guy’s phone number while they were talking. And h _is mother_ —whom Misha _has_ gotten a chance to speak with before, took it upon herself to introduce him to the rest of the guests, saying that Jensen “wasn’t doing it right.” Jensen wasn’t aware that there was only _one_ way to introduce someone, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to argue with his mother about it. So, after that—all he could do was sip on some wine and _watch_ as all his other aunts doted on the _secret-boyfriend_ that he brought to this thing. One by one, throughout the cocktail hour— they pulled Misha away, commenting on his beautiful eyes and saying how they just _loved_ the way he changed his voice for the show. And Jensen couldn’t help but laugh when his Aunt Andrea— _his father’s sister_ , managed to squeeze Misha’s ass a time or two. But, his friendly co-star wasn’t just popular with the women in his family … even Jensen’s dad, uncles and brother found the man to be a welcome addition—talking to him about his carpentry and then about politics, and _finally_ , about what it was like to _pretend_ to beat up their famous relative. They all gave him some good pointers on how to do it _for real_ —in case the need ever arises.

                Misha had taken it all in stride, winking at Jensen’s grandmother, saying the appropriate _thank yous_ to all his aunts … standing a bit further back when Andrea was around, all while still being honest and _himself_ with the guys. By the time dinner was ready, Jensen was feeling pretty good about it all. He knew that Misha could flirt—that’s sort of how he got into this weird relationship he’s been in for the past couple years after all; so, he wasn’t worried about leaving his boyfriend alone with the women in his family … but it was the _guys_ , his brother, Taylor, his _dad—those_ were the ones that made Jensen have a lump in his throat ever since Danneel told him she got _Misha_ to accompany him here. But, to his surprise and _relief_ , Misha was just _Misha …_ and it made him feel happy, and honestly, _a little guilty_ for thinking that he would try to be anything different.

***

                “Should I dance with Sarah?”

                Misha looks at him from across the table—his face, oddly blank. “ _Um_ , do you _want_ to dance with Sarah?”

                Jensen smiles, because the ocean is crashing against the beach—far off behind Misha’s back, but the moon is reflecting on the water, just like it is off Misha’s eyes, and everything just seems to _shine_. “I’d rather dance with _you_ ” he finally whispers, dropping his chin into his hand, woefully.

                “Wow … someone is feeling a little tipsy, _huh_?” Misha laughs, turning back to finish cutting into the steak that is sitting on his plate.

                “ _Maybe_ —so what?”

                “ _So_ … you better drink some water” Misha mumbles around a mouthful of meat, using his knife to gesture to the pitcher sitting in front of Jensen’s own, empty dish.

                “Why?” Jensen mumbles too—but he _knows_ the reason. His three glasses of wine and vodka tonic are making him an obvious mess.

                “ _Because_ —” Misha stops and looks around them, shoulders softening when he sees that the next group of people are at least three seats away along the edge of the extensive table they’re seated at. “You’re the one who was freaking out earlier—remember? You didn’t want your family to know about us? I don’t think you popping and locking with me on the dance floor is a good way to lay low.”

                “I can’t pop and lock” Jensen says, purposely avoiding Misha’s point. Obviously _he knows_ dancing together isn’t a good idea, but that doesn’t mean he still doesn’t _want_ to.

                “Go dance with Sarah. I’m sure she’ll think it’s very sweet.”

                Jensen sighs and looks away from his boyfriend and out towards the dance floor— a raised square, set out in the middle of the beach—lit up by paper lanterns that have been strung overhead. The bride and groom, as well as several guests are already dancing out on the platform.

Jensen _knows_ he should be more social, but he really just wants to stay with Misha. Plus, his Aunt Andrea has been lingering in his periphery for the last hour, and he’s afraid that if he leaves the other man alone, he’ll never see him again. But then Misha gives him a look of _what are you still doing here?_ So Jensen finally gives in. “Okay … I’ll be right back. _Don’t move_.”

                “Take your time” Misha grunts as he shoves another large bite of steak into his mouth.

                Jensen sighs “ … _fine._ ”

***

                It was a bad idea when her first thought of it and it’s even worse now. How the fuck did he end up with a guitar in his hand and a mic in front of his face? _Damn vodka._ What the fuck is he thinking?

                Jensen clears his throat and adjusts himself in the chair that had been set-up for him on the dance floor, reluctantly looking outwards after another moment and scanning the sea of eyes that are now all cast his way. “I _uh_ —don’t normally do this.”

                “We know!” Someone calls out from the crowd.

                “Shut up, Josh!” Jensen snips—instantly recognizing his brother’s voice. He laughs as his family laughs, and he tries to relax. These are all his loved ones, after all … he shouldn’t be nervous in front of them. Then again, he shouldn’t be getting ready to sing in front of them either … this was such a dumb idea! “ _Um_ , okay … I thought that this one would be appropriate” he begins, knowing that everyone will assume that he means the song will appropriate for the bride and groom— _and it just might be;_ but he knows, and hopefully, _Misha_ _will_ _too_ —that it’s appropriate for other reasons. He clears his throat one more time and then closes his eyes, letting his fingers glide up the strings until they find the right cords— and he strums.

                “ _It’s a little bit funny—these feelings inside. I’m not one of those who can, easily hide … I don’t have much money …_ ” he peeks out for just a moment, catching the blue that’s been crashing into him like the ocean for years now, _“but boy if I did—I’d buy a big house where, we both could live._ ”

                There are several claps and hoots from his audience, and Jensen catches Taylor giving him an enthusiastic thumbs up as he hugs Sarah in close— and Jensen is happy that they’re enjoying this too, and it all makes him ease once more as he continues on with the song.

                “ _And you can tell everybody, that this is your song—it may be quite simple but, now that it’s done … I hope you don’t mind, I hope you don’t mind, that I put down in words – how wonderful life is, now that you’re in the world._ ”

                His voice continues to carry—across the sands and the water, making everyone there, smile and sway with the salty breeze playing along the silk linins. It was a softer moment than he was anticipating— _sweeter_ and _more kind_. Jensen was originally thinking that this all would be silly, and a way to break some of the tension that has still been tying his heart in knots; but he’s happy that the _humor_ fell to the wayside, and gave room for _this_ to come through. It’s better this way, and he feels better for doing it. He comes towards the end of the song—confidence building as he thrums out the melody, smiling wider as he hears some of his aunts start to hum along. But once again, he finds the one person who is hearing this the way that he intends—and as soon as he collects Misha in his sights, he breathes in deep, holding this moment with him in his lungs.

                “ _So excuse me forgetting, but these things I do—you see I’ve forgotten, if they’re green or they’re blue … anyway, the thing is, what I really mean … yours are the sweetest eyes, I’ve ever seen._ ”

***

                The entirety of the guest list is now bumping together on the dance floor—the ocean air barely covering the obvious smell of intoxication. Jensen is probably among the worst—having drank five times more after his little performance. He just couldn’t handle everyone in his family showering him with attention, and that wasn’t even _counting_ the gentle, sweet and loving looks that _Misha_ was giving him … _those_ made him need the rum.

                _Bad things happen_ when he starts drinking rum.

                “Mish! _Mish, Mish, Mish!_ ” he garbles, pulling Misha towards him, through the crowd of gyrating bodies and hugging him close. “You are _so_ good, Mish” he purrs once he has the other man’s ear.

                “And you are very, _very_ drunk!” Misha yelps—trying to pull away.

                “Yeah, _kinda_ … s’okay though. Now we can dance!” Jensen jumps back and flails spastically, stopping a second later when the music slows—pointing at Misha in a gesture for him to come closer.

                Misha just laughs and shakes his head.

                Jensen jiggles some more and gestures another time, doing his best attempt at _flirty_ , in spite of the drunk.

                But _still_ —Misha resists.

                “Come on!”

                “You’re gonna regret it!” Misha shouts, because the new song’s volume is quite a bit louder than the one before.

                “Not possible!” Jensen shouts back.

                Finally, Misha shrugs—grinning big as he jumps up to Jensen’s front, throwing his arms in the air and bouncing them back and forth to the beat. He crouches down and then springs back up again— he kicks out his legs and spins in circles … he’s a chaotic flurry of hands and bit-lips.

                And with it all, Jensen realizes that he isn’t quite drunk enough _not_ to notice that Misha is an awful dancer—but at least he’s enthusiastic now, and Jensen is happy to see the guy cutting loose. So, the music plays, and they whirl and twist along with it … they do so for quite some time, even after many of the other people on the floor grew tired and went back to rest their feet by the tables.

                “I’m so glad you’re here” Jensen mumbles during a slightly slower song— causing both of them only to bounce and shake their arms from side to side with each crash of the drums.

                “Me too—I’m having fun.”

                “Want to have _more_ fun?” Jensen says—and it’s probably a little too loud because he catches Taylor staring at them from the corner of his eye.

                Thankfully, Misha seems to see it too, so he side-steps to block the groom’s view of them—lowering his voice when he speaks once more. “What did you have in mind?”

                “ _Well_ …” Jensen winks at his boyfriend, grinning wildly. “There’s this _whole_ , _long_ _dark_ beach that is just waiting for us to explore it.”

                “ _Hmm_ ” Misha hums thoughtfully. “That _does_ sound enticing.”

                “So—wanna get outta here?”

                Misha doesn’t answer right away, instead—glancing around them to see if anyone is watching what they’re up to. Jensen looks around as well, noticing now that Taylor is once again engrossed in his bride … some of _their_ friends are grossly engrossed in each other, and the rest of the group is off looking at a slide show of the happy couple that his uncle had just set up. It would seem, that if they were going to run off— _now_ would be the best time. “Okay … _let’s do it._ ”

                Jensen does a drunken victory dance, finally stilling long enough to grab Misha’s arm and drag him off the dance floor and out towards the water line. If anyone was looking their way, they’d see Misha jump onto Jensen’s back—making him stumble and almost fall to the ground, but he recovers and ends up carrying his boyfriend down into the foam of the waves—both laughing hysterically as Jensen tries to throw Misha into the water.

 

***

                “So, why does your aunt call you _Buggy_?”

                Jensen sighs as he stares up at the sky. He was wondering when Misha would ask him about the nickname … he had just hoped he wouldn’t be _dizzy-drunk_ when he did. “It’s stupid, _really_ … _uh_ , when I would go to her house—when I was little, like _five_ or something, they had these toy cars that you could ride in. _Anyway_ , I used to like this one that looked sorta old fashioned, like a toy, classic or somthin’. I guess, I used to drive around the back yard in it, asking people if they wanted to take a ride in my _buggy_. So – yeah.”

                Misha chuckles beside him—the sound getting muted in the sand at his back. “That’s cute.”

                “It’s embarrassing.”

                “Still cute, though.”

                They both quieted again and let the noise of the crashing waves fill the silence. They had walked a good way down the beach until the glow of the lanterns was all they could make out of the wedding. Misha had stopped to look at the moon’s reflection on the ocean and soon, they were both lying down on the sandy beach, staring up at the sky while lazily gliding the backs of their hands over one another—content with whatever skin they could find.

                If he was sober, Jensen would probably worry about all the sand getting into his expensive sport coat right now; but instead, he is just imagining how much it must be getting into Misha’s hair, and suddenly—all he wants to do is help it embed itself more. Misha lets out a pleased little laugh when Jensen finally rolls over and lies on top of him—noses brushing together as they hover on a kiss.

                “You look amazing right now” Jensen whispers, because _Misha does._

                “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

                “But— _you_ look _really, really_ good” Jensen ensures, as if Misha is going to fight him on it.

                “Andrea certainly seems to think so. I attempted to tell her that I was married, but she was too busy finding new ways to feel my ass, to care.”

                “You should have just told her that you were with _me_ ” Jensen snips, a little angry at his touchy-feely aunt for all her forwardness.

                “I _would have_ —but I was under the assumption that that was exactly the _opposite_ of what you wanted me to do.”

                Jensen sighs and then drops his head down onto Misha’s chest, doing his best to work his arms between the man’s back and the sand beneath. He wants to _hold him_ —keep him close so no one can steal him away. He wants to tell his family, and lay _official_ _claim_ , but he knows that that is mainly the _drunk_ talking … _maybe_. “It’s not fair” he finally settles on saying.

                Misha drags his hands up and around Jensen’s body—making grains of sand tumble all over his back, but Jensen can’t bring himself to care, because _soon_ —those hands are moving to the back of his head, running fingers through his hair … more soothing than the ocean and more beautiful than the moonlight. “I know … _it’s not_.”

                Jensen pulls his head back up to kiss the other man, _slow_ and _soft_ —hoping that he doesn’t taste too much of rum, because there is _more_ behind all this than that.

                Misha kisses him back—harder and deeper, proving that he doesn’t mind the rum, or the vodka, or whatever else passed Jensen’s lips during the night—as long as _he_ gets to have them now.

                When they finally break away, they spend another minute just staring at one another … caressing cheeks and feeling skin. “Thanks again … for coming here—coming with _me_ ” Jensen murmurs – breath, _hot_ against Misha’s face.

                The other man smiles—eyes wrinkling at the edges, gathering up every memory they’ve ever made together in their wake—dragging each and every one to the very forefront of Jensen’s consciousness … and feels as if he could burst with just how happy his is, right here and right now.

                “It was my pleasure … _Buggy._ ”

                Jensen kisses Misha again just to shut him up.

               

               

               

               


End file.
